Teacher of the Century Read Online Free PDF Page A

the back of the bottom of a drawer, as if imagining that it might someday return to service, that a wind would sweep away the incompetent leaders and restore the schools to the centers of discipline and learning that they had once been.
    The wood felt solid in her hand as she drew it from the box. The miraculous return to past glories had not come for the schools, but the artifact would see action again after all those years.
    Cilla rushed back down the hall and flung herself without hesitation into the burning classroom. Byron still wasn’t moving; the cloud of eight balls was still raining down on him.
    Cilla wrapped both hands tightly around the handle and stepped forward. She prayed that she still had the strength to do the work that lay ahead.
    Then, she drew back the paddle, the very same paddle that had stung many a student’s bottom, and she swung it as hard as she could at the ebony spheres.
    With a crack, the flat of the paddle smacked into two of the eight balls, sending them spinning. One looped drunkenly across the room, weaving toward the windows, while the other dashed itself against a blazing wall screen and burst into flames.
    Heart pounding, Cilla wrenched the paddle back and swung it again, spraying three more orbs in crazy trajectories around the room. Her next swing caught one full against the wood, chucking it down to shatter in sparks and black shards upon the floor.
    Surprised at herself, she pulled back and swung again. Spheres flew from the flat of the paddle like bees, whizzing into walls and fiery hammocks, shattering windows.
    As she struck at them, some of the orbs protested with A.I. voices, filling the air with the strident cries of parents. If anything, the babble strengthened her resolve and made Cilla swing harder.
    â€œCease this behavior immediately!” screamed one of the spheres, just before Cilla drove it into a corner.
    â€œThis is a violation of our rights!” wailed another orb in the voice of Ludwig’s mother. True to form, this particular orb never shut up until Cilla’s paddle shattered it against the floor.
    Cilla continued to swing away, breaking apart the awful swarm. As grave as the situation was, as much as a precious life depended on its outcome, a part of her was enlivened by the release, the realization of a secret fantasy from frustrated daydreams.
    Oh, how she’d wanted to demolish those damned chattering eight balls.
    Cilla’s head throbbed, and her arms ached. As she swung again and again, she prayed to God to save the life of the boy at her feet, even if it meant the loss of her own.
    One of the spheres struck her between the shoulder blades, but she ignored the flash of pain. Eight balls thumped her sides and legs, threatening to report her to the superintendent as they peppered her with bruises. She cried out as one of the balls clocked her kneecap with staggering force.
    Tears flowed down her sunken cheeks, but she refused to fall. Knuckles white, she clenched the paddle in a death grip and swung, preventing the malevolent spheres from landing another blow on her motionless charge.
    The flames leaped around her, burning through to bare walls, consuming everything...finally catching even the end of her paddle when she swept it through a fiery fall of ceiling tile.
    Even as the paddle burned, Cilla kept right on swinging.
    *****
    Solemnly, the president of the United States of America stepped up to the podium. As the assembled audience fell silent, he took a moment to review the text of his remarks, displayed on the screen of the implant in the palm of his hand.
    Newsglobes captured his every move, hovering at a respectful distance. Their all-seeing lenses flexed in and out, perfecting the framing of their shots. Images of the leader of the free world were instantaneously transmitted onto the hivenet, accessible to every mind with the brainware to receive them.
    The president looked up, cleared his throat, and began to